


Fly (Come with me and take to the air; because we dream with our eyes open; and flight begins with a leap of faith)

by oneiric_dreams



Category: K-pop, Super Junior
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneiric_dreams/pseuds/oneiric_dreams
Summary: Where Ryeowook and Kyuhyun are singers, and Jongwoon owns a café shop. Twitter is also Ryeowook’s other best friend, Kyuhyun conquers Korea by storm after a year of hiatus, and Jongwoon tries to manage his café without any crazy fangirl stampedes. Along the way, Jongwoon discovers what he might have been searching for. Oh, and then there is the coffee. (And the lemons.) And the fact that Jongwoon treats Kyuhyun’s bachelor pad like his own. It is all very confusing like how life normally is.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Fly (Come with me and take to the air; because we dream with our eyes open; and flight begins with a leap of faith)

Jongwoon hears the news first from Ryeowook, who’s somehow found time amidst his music video shooting to tweet about it. It’s not Jongwoon’s fault that Ryeowook has forcibly added him into his list of followers. It also happens that Jongwoon’s taking a break after the lunch hour rush and checks his phone for lack of better things to do.

“He’s baccckkk!” Ryeowook’s one-liner message reads, followed by seven “ke”s that serve no added purpose to the meaning of the message at all. But Jongwoon knows who Ryeowook’s talking about, even as the reply feed gets updated with messages of “Who oppa? Tell us!!”, “Ryeowookie soo excited, cute!”. Jongwoon rolls his eyes and presses the back button on his screen, slightly miffed that Ryeowook probably got a message while he was still waiting for his.

But then again, Ryeowook was in the same industry circle, and gossip spread like malt syrup there, attracting ants and other insects as it meanders in its path, along with blind adoring fans that flock along. A small tsk escapes from Jongwoon’s mouth as he types a message on his phone and sends it off to Ryeowook.

Satisfied, Jongwoon places the phone on the table beside him (screen facing him), and pushes his cap higher as he works the till, waving his employees to go ahead they gather for lunch. He’s fiddling with accounts on the computer when there’s a visible shift in the air as the glass door is pushed open with a clank. He hears a collective gasp (mostly from the girls) and stillness as a tall leggy man in a cashmere coat walks toward the counter. The man’s aviator glasses are glossed black, but Jongwoon’s heart gives a stupid leap of delight when the man’s lips quirk a little as he waves an iPhone in Jongwoon’s face.

“Ryeowook tells me you’re being jealous of him over me, again.” The man pulls at his collar, pale slender fingers grazing over stiff white. “I should be honored, hyung.”

Jongwoon curls his fist and mimes a cuffing motion towards the head. The man just grins even wider and then glances behind Jongwoon with a gleam in his eye.

“Just remember to make it extra black!” He exclaims happily as Jongwoon turns to the espresso machine, muttering under his breath.

It’s been a year since Jongwoon’s seen Kyuhyun. Granted, he gets occasional updates from television, or random sightings by some lucky fans, but to be able to poke Kyuhyun in the stomach and rub his ears teasingly; Jongwoon hasn’t done that ever since that last dinner during Christmas last year, when Jongwoon learnt an important lesson of not ever having Pasta alla carbonara and three pints of beer.

While Kyuhyun then would roundhouse kick Jongwoon for even touching the hair around his ears, Kyuhyun now is so warmly contented that he only manages a half-hearted shrug before he sinks into his hot coffee.

“Nice.” Kyuhyun comments lazily as Jongwoon takes a seat beside him. “You’ve improved from what I last remembered.”

“It was the old machine.” Jongwoon immediately defends. “They found lemon rinds in one of the filter units when the repairman came.”

Kyuhyun laughs, a melodious hum in Jongwoon’s ears. “As usual, I will not ask.” He sits up and looks around, “and your parents?”

“Oh right.” Jongwoon slaps Kyuhyun’s shoulder. “You still owe my mom five signed CDs. I’ll tell her she can claim it from you herself when she comes back from Cheju.” He adds when Kyuhyun’s brows are still furrowed. “They’re visiting. Distant aunt’s daughter just gave birth.”

Kyuhyun coughs, “and no pressure on you. None at all.” He dodges a kick to the shin. “All business entrepreneur no time for dating are we? No romantic incidents with customers either?”

“Have you seen the girls that enter here?” Jongwoon exclaims in horror. “I get either giggly schoolgirls with their humongous fancards, or boisterous ajumma fans that get spit on my face when I try to take their order.”

“For a person who told me it was a ‘strategic business move’, you sure complain awfully a lot.”

“Good business move, bad personal life move, overall- money’s more important at the moment.” Jongwoon merely nods. “And you? No hot French girl in tow?”

“If you count the lady at the neighbourhood bakery who gives me two extra slices every morning…” Kyuhyun rubs his chin in thought. “although she’s fifty-two and happily married.”

Jongwoon opens his mouth but Kyuhyun stares at him and sighs, “No hyung, she doesn’t happen to have any pretty daughters of marriageable age either.”

Jongwoon scoffs, “So no hot girl, no travel gifts, and I have to treat you to coffee. Is this how they treat seniors in Paris?”

“In Paris,” Kyuhyun replies easily, “seniors gladly treat their juniors because their juniors are awesome.”

Jongwoon peered closely at Kyuhyun’s uneven face, “Well, you’re not hot-French-girl certified, so I’d have to reconsider.” Kyuhyun shrugs, clearly forgoing a stinging rebut for more coffee.

The year spent in cold Paris had made Kyuhyun even fairer than he initially was; turquoise veins visible underneath his pale lucent skin on his hands as he cups the coffee for a sip. His original dark brown locks were also bleached a lighter shade of soft golden and gently mussed, framing his long face.

Still, some things were always the same; his Buddha-like ears (now covered beneath his hair), his chocolate irises (that never seem focused, like he’s only half here and listening), and that maddening smirk on his lips that riles up Jongwoon’s fist instinctively.

Although, which Jongwoon would never admit even if one stuck a lemon into his mouth, Kyuhyun was by far the best looking out of all his friends. There was Russian blood running through his veins by one of his great distant ancestors, and Kyuhyun had spent his childhood somewhere between Ireland and England. It was only till senior high that his mother brought him back to Korea to experience the culture of his birth nation.

Then, as retold by Kyuhyun to every new person met, what transpired was a miserly two years, until Kyuhyun discovered adulthood, soju, and the joys of norebang. All the same, the Caucasian look and accent still makes him stick out like a cabbage patch scarecrow wherever he goes.

Jongwoon once thought that Kyuhyun was one weird foreigner.

They sit in companionable silence as Kyuhyun finishes the last of his coffee, and then Kyuhyun has to go, but with a promise of a proper dinner soon, with Ryeowook of course. Only when Kyuhyun is gone does Jongwoon whip out his phone and spams Ryeowook’s twitter, one word per tweet.

@

Jongwoon doesn’t remember how exactly he became friends with Ryeowook. They were from rival junior high schools, which automatically made Jongwoon slightly uncomfortable around Ryeowook, whose short stature and nasal-like voice reminded him of a hyperactive meerkat when Kyuhyun first introduced them.

Ryeowook now is still a hyperactive meerket, only he gets to display it on national television no less. “Tonight 9.50pm@!!” The reminder reads, and Jongwoon wonders when Ryeowook managed to sneak this into his weekly planner. The program is a quiz show, idols lined up in rows as they try to answer questions to earn money towards a grand prize. Jongwoon glances up at the screen occasionally as he sorts accounts on his laptop in front of the television. Ryeowook is at the third row, forming a line with four other members from NutzpB. He fits in nicely with the rest, pretty boys with too bright smiles. Height issues on the other hand, were easily solved with shoe-lifts.

On screen, Ryeowook looks shyly into the camera and waves, eliciting screams from the studio audience. Jongwoon wants to reach into the television and strangle him. They sing a short chorus from their latest single, and fanchants can be heard from the audience along with the lyrics. Impressive, Jongwoon admits, seeing that it’s only been a week since their comeback stage. The camera pans over to the next line, an idol girl group that Jongwoon’s younger brother had been gushing about.

It is when the quiz officially starts after introductions that Jongwoon figures it safe to return to his accounts that beckon, the fuzzy noise from the television as background against the clicking of his mouse amidst the rustling of papers, strewn all over the coffee table. Jongwoon only glances up occasionally, to make sure he hasn’t missed a part of Ryeowook’s screen appearances. Ryeowook is eliminated halfway through the show, Jongwoon sighs in relief and mutes the television, plugging on his earphones and leans closer to his laptop screen.

Finally hour-long program ends, and Jongwoon leans back against the footrest of the sofa to stretch backwards, feeling accomplished; as the late evening news comes on. The balances were mostly accounted for; and by calculations the café could possibly break even within the next three months.

That was positively good news- a year and a half of strategizing and planning finally paying off. Jongwoon’s parents had worried unduly for their son the first year of his startup, taking out a bank loan secretly to help fund Jongwoon’s venture through the first particularly rough months. Up till now, Jongwoon felt guilty for making his parents leave their hometown and jobs to accompany their son. Even Jongjin, Jongwoon’s younger brother, had to follow as the whole family uprooted from Cheonan to live in Seoul, where Jongwoon spent his university years, and decided to start his venture from. Hence, the iPad for Jongjin this recent Christmas, and free drinks available at Hazel and Gretel; no free food though, Jongwoon was not past the brink of insanity to offer free food to a growing junior high student, not yet.

He cracks his neck and reaches for his phone tossed on the sofa, typing, “I watched; lame lettuce pun. And who doesn’t know that Pythagoras was the Father of Math? Kyuhyun’s going to kill you.” and presses the send button.

A minute later, the phone gives a short buzz with a reply, “Yay for lettuce heads. Kyuhyun can kill me when he manages to name the three main divisions of a movement in sonata form. Oh, I promoted your shop during the recording break! I think Sooyee sunbae-nim seemed quite interested. If she really goes there tomorrow, let me know!!!”

Jongwoon perks up at this; Park Sooyee was famous in the entertainment circle for discovering cozy food haunts with her closest friends. He makes a reminder to make sure the café is well stocked up tomorrow.

@

Saturdays were always the busiest for Jongwoon; with Music bank recordings in KBS across the street, Hazel and Gretel was filled with attendees of the live recording, hanging around in signature fan coloured clothes and paraphernalia before the queue started. He enjoys it nevertheless, ringing the till while waiting for the two teenagers across the counter to decide on their order.

The walls along the little café are littered with framed photos of celebrities and signatures on Handel and Gretel green and brown napkins. It’s a little collection of Jongwoon’s, what with the bagels and vegan sandwiches that attracted many health conscious celebrities attending recordings at KBS. Jongwoon had come to recognize several managers of famous artistes as they bustle in during the normal mid afternoon lull with special requests. Sometimes, customers come in just to sit by the window in hope of a brush with celebrities. Others take pictures and gossip amongst themselves excitedly, pointing at photos of their idols and snapping pictures of the signatures.

Ryeowook’s framed photo sits at the far end next to the small love couch by the door; he had brought his whole group down after their first music station recording, and Jongwoon specially opened the shop for them, running the ovens and drinks machine till two in the morning. Their manager took the photo, as the group posed with comical gestures around Jongwoon. It was a particular big hit for junior high kids, who crowded around squealing at the photo when Jongwoon first hung it up.

Kyuhyun’s photo is less insane, taken just before he left for Paris, his eye bags visible from the stress of clearing up loose ends before the year abroad, but still looking effortlessly chic in a white and blue stripped cardigan over a thin grey v neck. His arms are looped around Jongwoon and a cute boyish smile graces his face.

The girls decide on two vanilla milkshakes and a brownie waffle to share; Jongwoon keys in the order and passes them the receipt politely with a smile, a little startled as they burst into sudden giggles and shuffle to the pickup area whispering excitedly, throwing furtive looks at him from the corner of their eyes.

Some customers were strange, indeed.

Jongwoon narrowly avoids a tray full of freshly baked pastries as he squeezes his way to the back kitchen, checking the stock for the day on the clipboard next to the freezer.

“No lemons, what do you mean no lemons!” Jongwoon growls at the quivering worker who’s holding to the last two lemons. Jongwoon slaps a light hand on the worker.

“And don’t squeeze those lemons like they are your life line. We have not enough as it is. No need to squeeze out all the juices without collecting them.”

The worker releases his death grip on the two lemons, and apologizes profusely for not doing a thorough housekeeping of the storeroom.

Jongwoon pulls off his dark olive apron and grabs the van keys, popping out once to check that the main counter is still running smoothly, before he heads out the back door in search of lemons.

The morning markets are all closed by now, and he decides to first try his luck at the nearby neighbourhood shops. The first shop he reaches has no lemons in stock; the second only has five left, in odd dented shapes. A further twenty-minute drive takes him to a larger supermart; he lifts a basket as he skittles through the automatic entrance, and heads directly for the fruits and vegetables section.

There’s a nice selection of lemons in his basket and he’s impatiently tapping his fingers on the basket while the queue inches forward, when he glances at the queue across him and spots someone familiar.

It’s his university senior, Jongwoon’s sure of it, they were in the same special project group during first year, and Jongwoon can recognize that face with strong features anywhere. He’s with his wife, a tall, no-nonsense looking woman who is pushing a trolley stocked with various food items with a slight frown on her face, while he carries a baby girl in a strap-on harness and coos at her happily.

Jongwoon hesitates to call his senior’s name, not having kept in contact since they graduated, but then the wife exclaims suddenly and pats Jongwoon’s senior on the arm, mouthing a few words to him in exasperation. He laughs in response, patting her on the forehead and strides off with the baby, probably to retrieve some item his wife had forgotten to buy.

Jongwoon feels a slight tinge in his heart as the wife breaks into a fond smile as she watches her husband’s retreating back, and out of the blue, stupidly feels the urge, right in the middle of a busy supermart with a long queue, to find someone to fall in love.

Jongwoon returns to Handel and Gretel and a bunch of beaming workers ecstatically waving Sooyee’s signatures around. He messages Ryeowook five minutes later, after a worker shares with him the story of how Sooyee was pleasantly surprised and pleased at their bagel spread and coffee.

‘She came. I didn’t meet her because of lemons. I blame you.’

@

It had been wishful thinking on Kyuhyun’s part to think that they would meet again soon for a longer catch-up session. Once back, he was bombarded with voice recordings, photoshoots, magazine and entertainment news interviews as the rest of Korea caught up on exactly what the nation’s little ballad prince had been doing in the past year of absence.

“It’s like my report card to Korea.” Kyuhyun had whined as he traveled to his next studio, “What have you learnt in Paris? What were you most inspired by? Are you incorporating any new ideas into your latest single? Did you write any new songs?”

And then he started trailing off as Jongwoon rolled his eyes and sprinkled some more flour on the dough, only making soft noises of what vaguely sounded like he was actually listening.

It is slightly disconcerting and somewhat infuriating though, that “Korea Today” knows more about Kyuhyun’s trip more than Jongwoon does, down to the rich butter croissants across the subway station that Kyuhyun cannot resist every time he passes the shop.

So when their schedules finally align for a wee hour, Jongwoon takes what he can get. Ryeowook and Kyuhyun are already there when he pushes the plastic tarpaulin aside and steps into the warmth of the partitioned roadside stall. There are two bottles of opened beer and a plate of half-eaten chicken wings on the table.

“Wow.” Jongwoon quips as he steadies the squeaky plastic stool, “Two idols drinking beer late at night.” He turns to Kyuhyun, who’s slightly flushed in the cheeks (from the cold or drinks Jongwoon can’t tell) and gestures at Ryeowook, “He hasn’t tweeted this yet?”

“He’s not drunk enough.” Ryeowook gnaws on a chicken leg absently; pushing the thick scarf wrapped around his neck aside, “I need my pictures to be of news-worthy quality.”

Jongwoon gives a short laugh and waves Kyuhyun’s bottle at the waiter that walks past, who acknowledges with a nod, “It smells like blackmail to me.”

“It’s not blackmail,” Ryeowook finishes the leg with a satisfied smack of his lips. “I’m just updating curious fans, seeing as someone here doesn’t use twitter…”

“You’re still resisting?” Jongwoon turns to Kyuhyun incredulously.

“Yep,” Kyuhyun declares with glee, “Twenty-three days!” He kicks Ryeowook under the table, and adds, “I will not succumb to mindless social media.”

“You do realize you mean the ‘mindless social media’ that helps put food on your table right?” Ryeowook merely sighs and shakes his head. “Long way to go, dongseng. Long way to go.”

Kyuhyun ignores Ryeowook, and turns to Jongwoon, “So I heard that Sooyee sunbae-nim visited your place.”

“You mean the first or second time?” Jongwoon makes a face.

“Both of which he missed, and still he blames me.” Ryeowook interjects, “They’ll probably have to photoshop his face next to hers to hang that photograph on the wall.”

“To replace yours right?” Jongwoon growls back as Kyuhyun breathes an amused smile at their exchange.

“What? Right, while Kyuhyun’s photo is right next to the drinks pick-up area.” Ryeowook pouts and Jongwoon shrugs in response, “Well, he’s Korean’s little ballad prince right?”

Now it’s Kyuhyun’s turn to make a face. “Thanks hyung, nice pressure.”

The waiter comes back with Jongwoon’s beer and they pause their conversation while Jongwoon orders two plates of fried dumplings and jjajangmyeon - “and dukboki! One plate!” Ryeowook chirps when he realizes Jongwoon’s actually thinking of treating them. The waiter blinks, but Ryeowook sticks out a finger childishly and wiggles it; the waiter stutters a nod and turns away with an adoring look on his face.

Jongwoon and Kyuhyun look on in disgust.

“Anyway,” Ryeowook continues, “He’s the guy who’s last relationship was five years ago. And he only knows numbers, not emotions.” He deadpans and pokes Kyuhyun’s chest. “There’s your cold unfeeling heart.”

“Ooh, touché.” Kyuhyun grins. “Says the person who failed aerobics.”

“Who fails aerobics?” Jongwoon sputters, “wait, there was an module for aerobics?”

“Gymnastics has no correlation at all to dance. I do hip-hop, not forward rolls in time to ballet music.” Ryeowook huffs. “It was a stupid elective anyway.”

“It was a pass/fail module.” Kyuhyun supplies helpfully. He gets jabbed in his stomach.

A comfortable silence falls over the table as their food arrives, hot steam fogging up Jongwoon’s glasses. He distributes the jjajangmyeon into two additional bowls, and passes it down. Ryeowook’s already poking at his dukboki and Kyuhyun sniffles a little as he chews a dumpling, looking like an adorable squirrel.

“I saw Jaebeom the other day.” Jongwoon comments as he starts on his noodles. “He’s married with a kid now.”

“Jaebeom…” Kyuhyun muses, “He’s just a year older than you right? That’s fast. What’s he working as?”

“No idea. I saw him from a distance.” Jongwoon shirks back. “I should stop hanging with people younger than me. All you guys do is travel the world and act cute and young. I need someone to tell me how to start planning for a family.”

“I’m sure your mom does that job well. You sure you want more people to remind you that you’re of marriageable age?” Kyuhyun asks, and Jongwoon shudders at the thought.

“You’re crazy.” Ryeowook surmises. “Wait, Jaebeom’s that violent drummer from your band right? ” He trails off uncertainly when Kyuhyun gives him a look. “What?”

Jongwoon bends his head down towards the noodles as Kyuhyun stuffs a dumpling into Ryeowook’s mouth, telling him to keep chewing.

@

Promotions for Kyuhyun’s new single start in spring, just in time for the first saplings of new trees. The photobook comes with an eight-page spread of exclusive photos from Paris. Jongwoon samples the CD as background music for his little café, and finds himself particularly attached to track three, an emotional wedding-like song with a strong violin solo in the bridge.

The CD permeates the perfect atmosphere for his café the whole month, Jongwoon coming up with specialty couple milkshakes and set meals while the café is awashed in pinks and reds, courtesy of the over-enthusiastic teenage part-timers he employs.

All Jongwoon feels about the season is less black coffee ordered by customers, more frothy heart shapes drawn on warm caramel cappuccinos. The weather on the other hand, is letting up, and Jongwoon mentally celebrates the spring morning when he opens his mouth and mist does not appear from his breath.

He walks with a slight spring in his step this day, adding an extra packet of M&Ms to the brownie mix as a reward to his customers. There’s a rush of momentary happiness when a freckled toothy boy bites into his brownie with an absorbed air of concentration, unperturbed by the mother who desperately tries to push a napkin in his direction. There’s a smudge of chocolate on the boy’s nose, and his stubby fingers are coated with chocolate and cream. He looks up when he finishes his piece, and catches Jongwoon staring at him over the counter.

The thumbs up and toothy grin with chocolate stains makes Jongwoon’s day.

April passes in a blur; Jongwoon doesn’t remember how he starts and ends everyday- it feels like barely a blimp in time that he closes his eyes, and then the sun is burning up his blanket, stiffly wrapped over his sore body. There’s that order of bagels for somebody’s coming of age celebration, and then another catering event for a company’s retreat. And then their egg supplier decides to raise the price on their contract.

It takes two days of convincing and another three days of bargaining before Jongwoon settles on a reasonable price with the supplier.

He stays away from brownie baking that week. The first batch came out bitter and he chucked it on the spot.

The catering event is marked in a bright red marker circle on the calendar in his office, a converted small storage cupboard that serves as Jongwoon’s temporary solace in his workplace. He’s counting the days till the event is over and then he declares he needs a rest day in celebration. He barely says a word to his mother when he returns in all tiredness, managing to get in and out of the shower without major mishaps, and decides to wear his favourite jersey to bed.

The glow of the phone is warm against his cheek before he closes his eyes. He scrolls down his list of contacts, noting that he hardly uses half the numbers that he has stored. There are only ten contacts he can message at this time of the night and expect a reply within an hour. There are only five that he can call and expect them to pick up the phone. There are only two that will come out at this hour if he asks.

He doesn’t though; because he is a reasonable hyung. He tried it once a long time ago, and instantly felt guilty when Ryeowook showed up unshaven with red swollen eyes hidden beneath thick black frames, but a smile on his face nonetheless.

He’ll play with his tortoise instead, feeding it lettuce and sits mesmerized watching it moves its molars to chew a leaf and swallow. Sometimes, he’ll play his bass guitar for the tortoise to hear. He supposes blinking out of normal speed is tortoise-speak for ‘nice guitar riff there’.

@

After Kyuhyun’s sudden hiatus and journey off to-find-his-inner-soul, one fine day Jongwoon discovered himself waking up with a huge hangover, turned his face to the side, and came within inches of Ryeowook’s nose.

Ryeowook was exceptionally friendly that morning, Jongwoon had remembered as he shuffled around Ryeowook’s dorm awkwardly. Something had definitely happened the night before, perhaps an unknowing confession of Jongwoon’s secrets, like how he thought every person should rear tortoises for anger-management therapy, or how he found Ryeowook’s bandmate’s philtrum sexy, or worst of all, that he was sobbing at a bar because he missed Kyuhyun already. But Ryeowook merely smiled at him, too bright for a morning greeting, and served him with toast and coffee, apologizing that it was only the strongest he could find from his bandmate’s hidden stash.

After that, it was hard to stay distant from a guy who served coffee and toast cut in the shape of stars.

Jongwoon sometimes thinks that Ryeowook uses him more like a black mystical Eight ball. Ryeowook’s justification is that Jongwoon has an attuned business mind from his degree to make decisions that would weigh in well on the cost-to-benefit curve. Also, Jongwoon is three years older, and he has pretty good taste (aside from bowler hats but that’s Ryeowook’s prerogative), and Kyuhyun trusts him. Jongwoon could probably answer Ryeowook’s problems with ambiguous phrases like ‘Most signs point to yes.” And Ryeowook would go for whatever he was seeking advice for with absolute confidence.

This is how Jongwoon finds himself in the audience of a musical on the evening of a school holiday. He raises an eyebrow at Kyuhyun who’s sitting on his left, a few girls behind them whispering excitedly about a celebrity in the audience. One of them shyly taps Kyuhyun’s shoulder, and practically squeals in her seat when Kyuhyun amiably signs the scrap of paper she passes him. Jongwoon gives a short laugh disguised as a cough at the sharpie that Kyuhyun conjures out from his pocket when the pen provided is inkless.

The lights dim soon after, and the main character appears in a flurry of movement and music, as dancers twirl around in synchronized dance steps. She’s a lithe ballerina with a powerful voice, and Jongwoon’s awed at how much stage presence she exudes, even through the tumultuous hand flinging of the dancers around her, apparently symbolizing the turmoil within her.

“Where’s Ryeowook?” Jongwoon whispers as it reaches the climax of the opening song, and he still can’t spot that runt sized figure with the reddish flame of hair. (At least, it was red the last time he saw Ryeowook. Idols tended to change their hair colours like a child picking ice cream in an ice cream shop that serves over thirty colourful flavours.)

“Scene four.” Kyuhyun murmurs, not tearing his eyes away from the stage, clearly enraptured by the girl as well. Jongwoon sticks out his tongue in annoyance, and flips through the programme booklet. It’s not exactly a lavish production, unlike those overseas productions, but it is a solid cast nonetheless. He gives a low whistle of admiration at the list of accolades by the two leads, and then flips to Ryeowook’s section that takes up one third of a page and mainly emphasizes his first idol foray into musicals. Jongwoon’s head snaps up when there are squeals from the audience; it’s the male protagonist running onto the stage, dripping wet in a student uniform, looking roguishly suave as he swings his backpack over the girl’s head to shield her from the imaginary rain.

“Why the cliché. Wasn’t it supposed to be adapted from a best-selling movie?” Jongwoon leans back in Kyuhyun’s direction.

Kyuhyun’s brow furrows, and he replies from the corner of his mouth, “Yeah, and that movie was adapted from an online fanfiction.”

Jongwoon makes a face and sinks lower in his seat.

Ryeowook finally appears fifteen minutes after the start of the show. There’s another couple of girlish squeals in the audience, less though as compared to previously, Jongwoon notes. Ryeowook’s reddish hair is slicked upwards like a bonfire’s flames, his eyeliner drawn heavily accentuating his Korean eyes and high cheekbones. Jongwoon gives a shudder of surprise when he realizes this is the first time he’s seen Ryeowook on stage, in person in his element. Jongwoon cannot reconcile this Ryeowook who’s standing on stage like he hell has the right to be here, with the Ryeowook that attacks him with snuggles if they’ve not seen each other for more than two months.

There’s some dialogue, but Jongwoon’s focused on Ryeowook’s expressions; there’s goose pimples on his arms and neck when Ryeowook glares at the distance, towards the view of the audience, his eyes like deep orbs of locked diaries and dark secrets.

Before Jongwoon notices, a small sigh escapes him. It’s a mixture of awe and what he won’t admit as longing, to have that rush of blood to the head and to feel his heartbeat thumping every single beat; and in that single split second as the lights blind him, to feel wholly and desperately alive.

@

Two days later, on possibly one of the hottest summer days, Jongwoon sits on a rollercoaster six times consecutively for one morning.

The head rush is still not enough.

@

It was not something he hadn’t expected; truthfully it had ambled across his thoughts more than once, mostly when he walked past electronic stores with those stacks of televisions all showing the same old channel, or every now and then, when Ryeowook’s little reminders pop out from nowhere on his iCalendar. (Jongwoon has still yet to discover how Ryeowook manages to virally remind him of his latest on-screen performance.)

“It’ll be fun. Kind of.” Kyuhyun’s voice is still hanging on the line. He senses Jongwoon’s hesitation. “You’ll get to embarrass me on national television.”

Jongwoon thinks Kyuhyun’s stubborn like this most of the time. When Ryeowook first debuted, they had this whole argument about how Kyuhyun couldn’t guest on Ryeowook’s shows since he was preparing for debut himself. Jongwoon could, but he didn’t want to.

“Hyung.” Kyuhyun’s voice becomes gentle, and Jongwoon steels himself for it, because only Kyuhyun saw a side of Jongwoon that he regrets ever showing. “It’s been years.”

“-That I’ve been sober and know what I need- what I want to do for my life.” Jongwoon cuts him off. “Anyway, I’m busy that night.”

“No you’re not. Your mother says you always stay at home and marathon DVDs on Fridays.”

Jongwoon smells a bitter burning of betrayal. He glares at his mom who’s fingering Kyuhyun’s signed CDs happily.

“Those are important DVDs. I write reviews for them.” Jongwoon defends.

“On twitter.” Kyuhyun replies. “To three hundred and forty followers. Half of which only follow you only because you post pictures of celebrities that drop by your café.”

Jongwoon decides to pull out his trump card. “You’re my dongseng. You can’t order me to do this.”

He hears Kyuhyun’s sigh on the other end, a slight crackle through the phone line. “Yes hyung. But hyung,” and Jongwoon wants to punch Kyuhyun for being able to say it so flippantly when it has haunted him for the better part of his adulthood, “you want this too. Right?”

He clips the phone shut.

Two weeks later, Jongwoon watches Kyuhyun on a late night variety program as he introduces his fellow senior high math club buddy to the hosts of the program. Kyuhyun’s friend impersonates someone from Gag Concert to the hosts’ delight, and tells a story of how Kyuhyun once skipped Olympiad training to queue for the latest game console, and got pummeled by the schoolteacher afterwards.

That night, Jongwoon dreams that he’s the friend being introduced by Kyuhyun, and proceeds to narrate the ‘blue cheese’ incident that became the stuff of modern legends at the faculty of physics at their university. The hosts laugh hilariously while Kyuhyun sits mouth agape in response, as Jongwoon rattles on and on to a stream of steady laughter that only trickles to a stop five minutes later. Jongwoon sees one of the MCs wipe a tear from his eye as he clutches his stomach, and there’s a floppity feeling of thrill in his chest. They then ask him for a personal talent.

He looks at the microphone that’s suddenly in front of him, the echo of the studio too big and too empty to be filled by one voice- and jolts into wakefulness as the morning alarm beeps; a clammy feeling on his hands.

@

All hell had broken loose when Ryeowook discovered that Kyuhyun did actually have a twitter account. It was listed under an inconspicuous username and had two tweets posted, one “test test.” and one “hellooo” in a creepy sort of way. The thing was, it wasn’t really Kyuhyun’s fault, he had just neglected to mention the fact everytime they met, and Ryeowook had a sinusoidal number of followers on his twitter that he couldn’t possibly track every single follower.

There was, also, another suspicious thing. Kyuhyun had exactly five people he followed: CNN Today, Starcraft_cheatcodes, Ryeowook, Jongwoon, and a username called SongQian. That user had a profile picture of a lone potted plant and tweets, in Chinese.

This was Big News, as according to Ryeowook who flailed excitedly in Jongwoon’s ear as he navigated the page with the help of Google translate.

今天我好饿。夏天好热！想去海边吹风。有些时候会想起那些回忆。等秋天想回去走一走。跟我去吧！

Today, I'm hungry. Summer is hot! I'd like to go to the beach head. Sometimes I think the memories. And shall return to walk. Come with me!

“Where’s beach head?” Jongwoon frowns. “She doesn’t mean Cheju-do’s dragon head right?”

Ryeowook shrugs and keys in another Chinese phrase for translation.

Only Jongwoon seems to see the hilarity of this whole situation. Also, a certain Mr. Cho Kyuhyun had a lot of explaining to do.

@

The café breaks even at the end of the second financial quarter. There’s this unsettled feeling in Jongwoon’s chest that bubbles over at unexpected times like reheated porridge, as he goes through his balances for the third time. He would have likened it to giving birth to his first child, only his mother would have knocked him on the head for not respecting all mothers world-wide.

There’s a party, of course; a celebration of sorts at a norebang for all Handel and Gretel employees. His employees go wild with their song selections, but Jongwoon just sits away from all the madness, and politely declines the mike every time it passes in his direction. At the end of the night, there’s even a full cream cake in the characteristic brown and green colours and the outline of their little shop. Jongwoon is drawn as a cartoonish boss with thin slit eyes, standing at the entrance to greet customers.

He gets caked with it, of course.

At three in the morning, he appears on Kyuhyun’s doorstep red faced and a wide dopey grin plastered on his face.

“My favourite dongseng!” is all he manages before he spectacularly deposits dinner on the front mat of Kyuhyun’s door.

There’s a dull throbbing in his head when he awakes. There’s also the lingering scent of stale vomit mixed with what seems like a desperate spray of cologne through the whole room. It only serves to worsen his headache.

He trips over some game console wires on the way to the toilet.

Ah right, Kyuhyun’s house, he recalls.

“You’re lucky I only have work at two today.” Kyuhyun cocks his head to the side as Jongwoon enters the living area, washed up and slightly more awake. Starcraft is plugged to the flat screen television. “Coffee is…” Kyuhyun does a serious of violent clicks on his mouse, tongue peeking out from his lips, “Cups, top left cupboard.”

Jongwoon gives a groan in acknowledgement and shuffles toward the small kitchen, grabbing a cup from the cupboard and hugging the coffeemaker as it spits out its life-giving drink.

Sandwiches Jongwoon didn’t notice the first time are on the table when he rejoins Kyuhyun, who finishes his morning game with relish. Jongwoon helps himself to the sausage and egg while Kyuhyun bites into the tuna filled sandwich.

There are a few minutes of silent munching, and Jongwoon cracks a smile at the familiarity of the situation.

“Remember when you ordered tuna sandwiches and gave all the cucumbers to me?”

“Hey, I paid for that meal, you got extra freebies. Why waste perfectly good cucumbers?” Kyuhyun mumbles.

“You picked them out like this.” Jongwoon mimes the action in a feminine way, “Besides, you got my number in exchange.” Jongwoon continues. “I rarely give out my number to strangers.”

“Only good-looking ones, I know.” Kyuhyun deadpans; Jongwoon loses a debate with his arm muscles to retaliate since he is only half sober.

“I gave my number to Ryeowook.” Jongwoon tries.

“I forced you to.”

“Oh. I can’t really remember.” Jongwoon scratches the stubble on his chin. “Wasn’t that after the ‘candy’ incident?”

Kyuhyun pauses, eyes blank before something flashes across and he bursts out in abrupt laughter. “Oh that. Yeah, apparently we later drank you under the table and you were pretty much amenable to our requests after that.”

“I need to stop getting drunk around you guys.” Jongwoon sags his shoulders.

“Yeah.” Kyuhyun blinks thoughtfully, “I’ve heard.”

There’s something about how Kyuhyun pauses, mouth half opened, that Jongwoon knows that something is up. It’s not even the shift in the atmosphere, but he suddenly feels very open, and vulnerable. There’s only one other person that could apply to ‘you guys’, Jongwoon thinks. And he remembers the unfortunate incident that resulted in the scarring of Ryeowook’s leader, who according to Ryeowook, is Extra Wary every time Jongwoon comes around.

Ryeowook’s leader had entered that morning after Jongwoon’s drunken escapade and adventures to Ryeowook’s dorm, to a strange homely sight of a freshly bathed Jongwoon rubbing his hair, with Ryeowook folding yesterday’s alcohol-ridden clothes on his bed.

“I didn’t do anything.” Jongwoon replies instinctively.

Kyuhyun’s eyes merely bug out further, then he closes his mouth and opens it again.

“Anyway… You’re paying for my mat’s dry cleaning. What was the special occasion yesterday?” Kyuhyun asks.

Jongwoon gives a wry smile, “We broke even. Finally.” Even one night of celebration does nothing to dispel this strange feeling in his chest. He shrugs, “I don’t know, it just feels, weird. Like I should be over the moon, but I’m not.” He looks at Kyuhyun in sudden horror, “Maybe I’ve become an overachiever! Maybe I have to open more outlets to feel accomplished again.”

Kyuhyun pokes him in the stomach. “Hyung, you started Handel and Gretel because you couldn’t find enough satisfaction and achievement at in auditing. Are you changing your mind again?”

Jongwoon recalls those long phone call debates with friends, family, and potential investors, where everything was stressful, but fresh and exciting. When Handel and Gretel made its first magazine publication Jongwoon couldn’t keep the grin off his face for a whole week.

“I don’t know.” Jongwoon drains the last dregs of his coffee. “I guess I need new thrills.”

He fails to notice the sudden glint in Kyuhyun’s eyes.

____________  
“There’s a flyer in Jongwoon’s face and Ryeowook waves it about proudly. “Kyuhyun told me you were seeking new thrills.”

The flyer is in a clear plastic protective sheet; Superstar K, coming soon! The bold colourful font screams from the paper. It also lists the dates of audition in different regions of Korea.

“It’s a singing competition.” Jongwoon points out.

“Wow, clever deduction- hyung hyung!” Ryeowook clings onto Jongwoon’s arm as he turns away. “You haven’t sung since graduation! I missed your voice.” He pouts, and Jongwoon half wants to lift his fist in annoyance and half wants to smother Ryeowook in cheek pinches.

“You know what songs I used to sing.” Jongwoon chooses to glare at Ryeowook instead. “I don’t do your bubblegum pop.”

“Even better.” Ryeowook explains. “You’ll stand out in the auditions.”

Jongwoon wrings Ryeowook’s wrist in lieu of the fact that Ryeowook already had his stage makeup on and pinching his cheeks would only result in cracked foundation marks. “You hated my songs.”

“Hyung.” Ryeowook laughs, “You used to wear studded bracelets and screamed into a mike like a howling werewolf. I was creeped out.” He lets himself be rattled by the shoulders, head lolling back and forth like a ragdoll as Jongwoon shakes him.

“Think about it. Really!” And then Ryeowook’s manager is calling him back towards the studio while Jongwoon leaves the flyer on his pile of papers.

It gets buried within other sheets within an hour, and forgotten.

@

“No.”

“I see you’ve gotten Ryeowook’s flyer.”

Jongwoon narrows his eyes at Kyuhyun. “You have an evil plan in mind.”

“Hyung, you place so little faith in me.” Kyuhyun widens his eyes innocuously.

“As I said, evil plans.”

They are by the Han River tonight, Kyuhyun calling Jongwoon out from his house with offers of free pork rib soup. The river runs through the city, sturdy arch bridges sectioning portions of the water flow. It is still as beautiful at night, the city lights glimmering off the reflection of the dark waters.

There is the occasional night junkie jogger, but the bank side where they relax at is relatively quiet. Still, Jongwoon knows better than free offers of food from Kyuhyun; two bites in and Kyuhyun is staring at him expectantly.

“What?” Jongwoon asks warily.

“Evil plan aside, can you seriously consider about auditioning for it?” Kyuhyun asks, “There’s no age limit to this one. No need to worry about being churned out as a mindless pop idol here.”

Jongwoon stares, “Ryeowook would take offence with that.”

“He knows I love him.” Kyuhyun replies offhandedly. He puts down his chopsticks and looks unblinkingly at Jongwoon. “Anyway, sometimes the best things we get are those not in our life plans.”

It’s easy for Kyuhyun to say that. Kyuhyun stumbled into the whole celebrity business and wriggled his way into the hearts of Koreans without knowing how he did it. Every time Jongwoon asks, he shrugs and replies, “Blessings, I guess.” Jongwoon knows though; Kyuhyun had his future drawn out with a doctorate degree in Math, but his first love was always music, and singing. That, and the X-factor that endeared him to audiences; like the annoying younger brother you wanted to hug and punch at the same time.

Then, Kyuhyun’s sudden announcement to further music studies in Paris for a year when his career was taking off shocked many fans, as critiques in the music industry saw it as a highly risky move.

“So Paris was a spur of the moment?” Jongwoon asks. He should have asked it a long time ago; it just didn’t cross his mind of its importance as compared to the fact that Kyuhyun was going overseas.

Kyuhyun just laughs. “Ah good question. I wanted somewhere away from here, where I could continue to grow without the burden of my celebrity status. Paris had good croissants.” His lips curl contentedly. “A lot of people said I was stupid, crazy even. But I loved it. I’m just thankful that my company was understanding of it.”

Jongwoon stares at Kyuhyun, waiting for him to continue.

“I realized that there.” Kyuhyun looks back at Jongwoon with utmost seriousness in his face. “I want to do music my whole life, to be able to perform, and have people enjoy, appreciate it.”

“But, applause is addictive.” Jongwoon looks pointedly at Kyuhyun. “It’s a drug, once you start, you just keep wanting for more.”

“Somebody wise once said that as you get older, its not the amount of applause that you can obtain, it’s the smile that you get from even one individual who’s day is brightened by your singing.”

Kyuhyun breaks into a smile here, and Jongwoon recognizes the look.

“Somebody who happens to be a girl?” He rolls his eyes when Kyuhyun blinks and scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Ryeowook’s probably going to kill me for asking this when he’s not present, but- yes. Song Qian?” Jongwoon’s eyebrows rise inquisitively.

“Somebody.” Kyuhyun states. “A friend.”

“Tree activist?” Jongwoon asks, amused, recalling the twitpics of a plant collection.

“She…just likes plants.” Kyuhyun explains. “It helps her relieve stress.”

“Right, this is the part where you tell me where you met her out of serendipity and fell for her straight- and she’s not even Korean?” Jongwoon asks incredulously.

“But it’s fate! Really!” Kyuhyun grabs Jongwoon’s arm when Jongwoon gives him a condescending nod.

“I mean, the chances of meeting a Chinese in Paris, who then has a job stint in Seoul for the next five years?” Kyuhyun gestures breathlessly, palms open and expectant.

“So you went to Paris, and got yourself a Chinese girlfriend.” Jongwoon cocks his head at the absurdity of it all. “How do you even communicate?”

Kyuhyun’s cheeks tinge pink and his tongue darts out before he bites his lower lip. “Well, not girlfriend…yet. Besides, she knows basic Korean, she’s been learning it in preparation for her job stint here.”

“What does she work as anyway?” Jongwoon remembers something, and adds, “And does she even know you’re a singer?”

“Professional dancer.” Kyuhyun replies almost dreamily, then turns slightly somber, “I told her I sang. She got mad at me when she first came to Korea and saw my face everywhere. But then, things are still a little awkward between us now, since she treats me like a big celebrity. When I am not.” Kyuhyun chews on his lip.

“But you are. Now stop talking about yourself like you haven’t won the triple crown at Mnet Countdown in March.” Jongwoon mutters to himself angrily and Kyuhyun grins.

“Jealous, hyung? Then you should really audition for Superstar K. I hear the winner gets a year singing contract-”

“Eat your pork ribs!”

@

Kyuhyun’s twitter is updated with three Chinese lines, and re-tweeted by SongQian. Ryeowook messages him the translation, after hours of scouring the Internet for a more accurate translation tool, and Jongwoon smiles. There is progress made, after all.

众里寻他千百度，  
蓦然回首，那人却在，  
灯火阑珊处。*

@

Jongwoon’s serving a businessman who jabs his order outs while talking boisterously on his phone. It’s rude, and Jongwoon two years ago would have called the man out on it, but his temper has been curbed such that he now replies with a polite bow and directs the man to the waiting counter.

“It’s better than the trash they have on television nowadays.” The man speaks loudly into his phone. He pauses, frowning at his watch. “Yes- no, I’m waiting for my daughter at KBS. She’s crazy for this boyband that sounds like peanut butter, or something.”

Jongwoon tenses, glancing at the man again. He is middle-aged, with hints of a potbelly forming underneath the expensive looking suit. He drums his pudgy fingers on the counter, a fat gold band glimmering on his third finger. It must be the archetypical look of all businessmen in their forties; Jongwoon tries to swallow a shudder at the back of his throat. But then the man continues, “Yes, that one. Scrawny boys that look like girls. Just weird. It’s all just noise to me. Gives me a headache. Even the newsreader on HitFM would sound better than that. Hey wait, so have you obtained the documents?”

There’s a sudden sick feeling in Jongwoon’s stomach, and he gapes at the business suit before hurriedly excusing himself to the office for a breather. The door slams behind him and he lets out a shaky breath, heart beating heavily in his chest. So this is what it’s like- a life of success, blindness. A life that sees music as noise.

Jongwoon is suddenly scared of what he may become.

@

“Jongwoon-shii! Ryeowook’s in the bathroom, he’ll be out soon.” Ryeowook’s bandmate picks up Jongwoon’s call on the third ring. Hwanhee, Jongwoon guesses, from the soft dulcets and the slight lisp in pronunciation.

“Ryeowookie! Phone!” There is rustling on the line and then Jongwoon hears a loud thwack and a high giggle.

“Sorry.” Ryeowook’s voice comes on, sounding muted and sore. “Stupid dongsengs.”

“Story of my life.” Jongwoon merely replies, earning a small “hoi!” in return. He hears Ryeowook sniffle. “Hey did I catch you at a bad time? Are you sick?”

“Nothing warm tea cannot solve. Late night recordings.” And Ryeowook makes a small sound of tiredness. “Anyway, why did you call?”

Jongwoon hesitates, tapping his fingers as his computer screen shows a half sketched design for cafe promotions next month. “Can you play for me?”

“Wow. You call me just to ask me for a performance? I should charge.” But Jongwoon already hears the sifting of score sheets and music books. “Any special request?”

“Something nice.”

“Vague.” Ryeowook’s voice deadpans. But then Jongwoon hears a thump as the phone is being set on the keyboard and Ryeowook adjusts the synthesizer to the correct piano tone.

Music flows through Ryeowook’s hands through the keyboard to Jongwoon’s ears. There’s scales and arpeggios, and the deft and light heartedness as Ryeowook speeds up, and slows down at different parts, leaving Jongwoon breathless in the expectation of the next section. It is a beautiful three and a half minute piece, and Jongwoon is smiling at the end of it.

“Hey Ryeowook,” Jongwoon muses, “You should play that on TV.”

He hears a short, if derisive laugh.

“I did.” Ryeowook’s muted voice comes on the line as Jongwoon hears the rustling of sheets.

“You did? When? And anyway,” Jongwoon quips, “it’s not polite to lie in bed to talk to your hyung.”

“It got cut out of broadcast.”

Jongwoon’s suddenly aware of how tired Ryeowook sounds, and perhaps, how much Ryeowook has been struggling without a single complaint. Ryeowook used to be this maniac pianist that devoured music scores like junk food, and Jongwoon had almost forgotten about that against the Ryeowook on television who dances like he has been electrocuted.

“Are there other ways to get your music out?” Jongwoon asks, and his mind sparks brilliantly. “Wait, you can compose, can’t you. Why not write a song for your next album?”

“Urughh…” Ryeowook groans into what Jongwoon presumes must be Ryeowook’s pillow (or giraffe plushie) “I’ve thought about it. But my compositions just sound weird; and besides, NutzpB does not sing classical, or even slow ballads for that matter.”

“You should write for Kyuhyun then.” Jongwoon suggests, twirling the idea in his head.

He hears a snort on the line, “Kyuhyun’s company has more than enough talented composers to provide him songs. I don’t even have a CV to my composer profile.”

Jongwoon grunts, “You’re being difficult.”

“I’m being realistic.” Ryeowook replies, this time softly.

And Jongwoon startles at how much Ryeowook is starting to sound like him.

@

A week later, Ryeowook’s dressed up as a tomato this time on his late night television stint. The audience laughs as he takes a tumble and cannot right himself up as the poofy suit gets in the way. Jongwoon tastes bitterness on his tongue and switches channels.

He is suddenly angry, at the television he thinks. It’s a unpleasant pot of simmering anger that stews on the brink of overboiling. Maybe it’s the horrid laughter of the MC, maybe it’s the fact that Ryeowook’s piano skills might never been shown on prime time television, being deemed not entertaining enough as compared to tomato suits. Maybe it’s not even Ryeowook, but Jongwoon himself, that he’s given up on music but he doesn’t want his dongsengs to follow.

He does not message Ryeowook after that either.

@

Jongwoon throws himself into work for the next month, working overtime and extra shifts, going places to gain more social connections, talking, sounding and acting convincingly the part of the young brilliant entrepreneur looking for the next big step in his expansion of his blood and sweat also known as Handel and Gretel. There are handshakes and boisterous laughter and small talk and Hors d'oeuvres that Jongwoon cannot name but he smiles nonetheless and pretends like he gets the joke.

The sky is fast darkening as Jongwoon steps into the warm glow of the restaurant, the maître checking his name against the reservation list before guiding him to a table for two. Ryeowook had been adamant about Jongwoon drawing eyeliner to lure the bait in with his smoldering gaze, but the eyeliner was long dried up when Jongwoon unscrewed it.

“Hyo Mina” The message reads as Jongwoon checks it for the umpteenth time. It is his first blind date; set up by a fellow schoolmate he met at one of the wine and cheese functions he attended to socialize among other connoisseurs, and possibly sources of new ideas.

She is his schoolmate’s distant cousin, a fine catch according to him. Two years younger, delicate features, and a pharmacist at a reputable hospital, she had just broken up with her previous boyfriend three months earlier, and was currently single and highly available. She’s also a thing of graceful beauty as she seats herself across Jongwoon, a polite dip of her head as her black tresses fall like silken against her shoulders.

“Kim Jongwoon right?” His name rolls off her tongue like malt honey and Jongwoon has to take a breath to compose himself.

They start with appetizers, along with the topic about school life (and how Jongwoon knew her cousin), and gradually moved on to occupations, the art of coffee brewing (she admits indulgence in black coffee), crazy customers (they both can relate to), relaxation techniques (she meditates every night before she sleeps), and halfway through the main course, hobbies.

“I don’t have any.” Jongwoon frowns. “Handel and Gretel takes up most of my time.”

“But you must have something that you like to do in your free time?” She persists.  
(She reads books.)

“I…” It’s strange how Jongwoon wants to share this with somebody he’s just met, but he has this sudden curiosity at how she would respond.

“I used to sing.” Jongwoon answers, “Back in university. A bunch of us used to have these jam sessions at a student bar across the road from campus.”

“Jam sessions- you were in a band?” She demurely dabs at the sides of her mouth after she takes a sip of water from her glass.

“Yes.” Jongwoon glances at her. “I was the bass guitarist, we played mostly heavy metal or rock.”

“Ah, I guess.” She blinks, troubled for a moment before she replies, “But you don’t do that anymore?”

Jongwoon shakes his head. “We… we all grew out of it. Jobs, other commitments, starting a family…” He recalls the bliss on Jaebeom’s face staring at his child, “We sort of just scattered.”

“Oh.” She laughs politely, and stops when Jongwoon stares at her blankly, “I mean, young dreams right? To be a rockstar, or other ridiculous ideas we had when we were young. And then here we are, a coffee connoisseur, an entrepreneur, and a successful businessman.” She gestures at Jongwoon, evidently thinking she was giving an utmost compliment.

“So you think being a rockstar is a ridiculous thing?” Jongwoon asks, tumbling over his words in haste. She hesitates, carefully phrasing her next words.

“Not ridiculous, I mean. They are just dreams right? I wanted to be a ballerina when I was a child. Thank goodness I grew out of that. Nobody actually believes that dreams work into reality.” She gives a curt laugh. “Can you imagine rock playing next to the pop groups on radio?”

The sad thing is, Jongwoon imagines that every time Ryeowook’s group drops a new single and it gets requested for repeatedly on radio. It’s sadder that Jongwoon can imagine Hyo Mina- world-class ballerina with her long limbs and toes on en pointe, floating across a stage.

“You know what I can’t imagine?” Jongwoon stands up in a rush, knocking over his glass of water accidentally. The liquid seeps into the starched tablecloth, blooming into patterns of dark patches. “Being here for another minute. Have a nice day. Miss Mina-shii.”

@

Kyuhyun’s answering machines whirls into life and Jongwoon blanches in a frown. Kyuhyun’s recording message sounds, then a beep, then-

“Jongwoon hyung, the security guard called me, just don’t mess up my flat. I can’t get away from work now, so you just rest well. And stop drinking too much.” There’s shouting in the background, then Kyuhyun speaks hurriedly, “I know my place is your little haven for downing sorrows but don’t go overboard or I’ll start charging rent. No puke, please.”

The line cuts off and Jongwoon is thrown back into the darkness of Kyuhyun’s apartment and the only sound is the clinking of bottles as Jongwoon reaches out to search for an unopened one.

The front door jingles open and Jongwoon’s first thought is that Kyuhyun’s back. But then Jongwoon remember that Kyuhyun has back-to-back recordings tonight and tenses up. It is only when a pint-sized figure in a bowler hat bustles in does Jongwoon relax back into couch with a groan.

“Kyuhyun wanted me to make sure you were alright-” Ryeowook pauses and takes in the carnage in the living room. “How many bottles have you been drinking!” He kneels down to pick up the scattered bottles on the floor and Jongwoon glances at him from the corner of his eye, arm over his forehead. Ryeowook still had his stage makeup on, having come here straight after his schedule had ended. The dark kohl eyeliner was smudged; Ryeowook looked like he had panda eyes.

A thought crosses Jongwoon’s mind: Maybe Ryeowook actually dressed like a panda. Not that Ryeowook would have complained, having done similar dress-ups before. Jongwoon frowns at that thought and flings out a hand at Ryeowook.

“Tomato.” Jongwoon slurs, pointing at Ryeowook who’s trying to still Jongwoon’s flailing arms. “Bloody tomato.”

“Yes, tomato. I’ll buy you a crate. What, into tomato quiches now are we?” Ryeowook reassures him and tries to sneak off the remaining beer cans back into the fridge. Jongwoon is faster.

“Unhand them you thieving tomato!” Jongwoon lunges for the beers and misses, hitting his forehead against the coffee table with a dull thunk as he rolls off the couch. “Ouch.”

Ryeowook is nearing hysterical as Jongwoon rubs the forming bump on his head. “Hyung, look it was only a girl. There’s probably many other girls in the waiting line. You’re handsome,” Jongwoon does not miss the cringe on Ryeowook’s face as he tries to placate Jongwoon with kind words. “-you’re a filial son, you don’t smoke, drink- okay maybe you do but not that much. You have a successful business, a promising career-”

“What’s with my career.” Jongwoon stomach churns at Ryeowook’s words. “Why does everybody think it’s a good career.” Because Jongwoon can’t understand why everybody seems to think he has done something amazing. He has accomplished but another milestone, a blip in his life journey.

“What?” Ryeowook replies, uncomprehending. “I meant your café, you broke even within such a short time, and if that’s not good management I don’t know what is. NutzpB took two years to get our first number one on the charts, so your accomplishment is not something small.” He jabs Jongwoon affectionately.

Jongwoon frowns at Ryeowook’s words. It was just like all others, praising him for his business sense. He blurts out, “I chose it because it was something I could do. It was secure. I was good at it.”

“Okay,” Ryeowook replies, slower and more hesitant this time. “I know you are good at it. I mean, you were not the top five percent of your cohort for no reason.”

“You were too.” Jongwoon glares at Ryeowook, and feels more anger bubbling up as Ryeowook’s eyes look sympathetic, which was definitely not the response he wanted. “What happened to your degree?” He wants to shake Ryeowook’s shoulders.

“I do music.” Ryeowook exclaims, clearly surprised at the accusation.

“Does dressing up as a tomato and prancing around on stage count as doing music?” Jongwoon sneers, and gains some perverse satisfaction when Ryeowook falls silent.

“It’s not that simple.” Ryeowook smiles bitterly. “I take what I can get. It’s still music, in just a different form.”

“You were a great pianist.” Jongwoon points out. “You still are. What happened to that?”

Ryeowook face sinks into a look that has seen many weathered debates on this subject. “Knowing how to play well does not constitute a great pianist.”

“Then what does?” Jongwoon snaps; alcohol seems to allow his brain to only connect in short circuits, but it also makes debates illogical like how he likes it best. “How bout starting a business just because I have a business degree. It seems to count as great to you.”

“Jongwoon-shii, being good at something doesn’t mean you can take it as a career. I’m no virtuoso; I can’t lead in an orchestra. That’s just crazy.” Ryeowook whispers. “Real pianists play to touch people emotionally; real pianists compose.”

It irks Jongwoon to no end, when Ryeowook is being small and tiny and insignificant when he graduate magna cum laude in his cohort and performed for the school’s golden jubilee to the President no less.

Jongwoon is rattling on now, a derailed train with no end inside except for the fatal crash. “I’ve seen your scribbles. It’s a drawer full isn’t it? You know you can offer better. But you don’t, and I don’t know why.”

Jongwoon’s clearly hit a raw nerve as something flickers in Ryeowook’s eyes. “Instead of doing brilliant music, you give them some cheap-skate techno beat with a hook.” Jongwoon continues in his haze, unsure where this is heading and he hears himself shout, voice hoarse and ears burning; he doesn’t know whom he’s really reprimanding anymore.

“That’s cheating in classical music, and you know it.”

Ryeowook is uncharacteristically quiet, looking at the floor at Kyuhyun’s stupid floor mat that cost Jongwoon sixty dollars to dry wash.

“Liszt and Beethoven would be ashamed of you.” Jongwoon spits. “A disgrace. Really.”

Ryeowook’s small fists are balled up and his whole frame is shaking, but Ryeowook’s eyes are hidden by his long auburn bangs. There’s a moment where Jongwoon thinks that Ryeowook might actually throw an actual punch, the first in Ryeowook’s life. But then Ryeowook tersely gets up from his knees, and walks past Jongwoon without a word.

The door that slams behind him is the closest Jongwoon feels of Ryeowook’s wrath.

@

He receives a message from Kyuhyun the next day.

“Respect is a delicate thing. Ryeowook respected you.”

Jongwoon deletes the message.

@  
It’s closing time when Kyuhyun storms into Handel and Gretel, a silent force of righteous anger radiating in his path. The lights are mostly off, a lone row of fluorescent bulbs casting dim shadows as Jongwoon alone drags chairs.

There’s no cursory greeting, no image that Kyuhyun cares for; he steps deliberately in front of Jongwoon’s face. “What did you do to Ryeowook.”

Jongwoon’s sick of this, of trying to explain himself to people, of living for one thing and realizing that it might not be what he’s actually looking for, for being twenty-eight without a clear aim in life.

“I don’t know, okay. I don’t. Know.” Jongwoon’s voice trembles low, and he swallows thickly.

Kyuhyun pauses, and then exhales a long breath. “Hyung.”

“No.” Jongwoon holds up a hand when Kyuhyun tries to continue. “No, just. Stop, okay.” He goes into the back kitchen for a few moments and comes out with a carton box.

“Look. Give this to Ryeowook tomorrow. You both have a music recording together right?” Jongwoon slips his hands into his back pockets awkwardly as Kyuhyun takes hold of the handle, looking at Jongwoon warily. “Extra batch of apple pie. Leftover.” Jongwoon tries to gesture nonchalantly.

Kyuhyun looks at Jongwoon and sighs. “Hyung. We can meet up after I finish. I have some time-”

“No you don’t.” Jongwoon licks his dry lips. “You have recordings to go to, a concert to prepare for, and a girl to chase. So go.” He places a coffee cup in Kyuhyun’s hand. “I shut down the machine so this was the closest I could do. You go now.”

He watches Kyuhyun pass the glass pane windows of his shop, silhouette ever so distinct, and disappears at the corner. It was all messed up now; Jongwoon muses as he sits in the stifling silence of his café, looking at the photos and signatures on the walls, and he wonders how many celebrities on the wall had started off wanting something else and fell into the entertainment business. He wonders when he started to realize that maybe, what he was looking for from school was not his degree, but something that kept him alive every Friday night at the local school pub.

@

The hype surrounding Superstar K builds up steadily, with constant reports of long queues and crowds at audition venues throughout Korea. There are some talented, some plain weird, and some just too “special” for words. The date of the Seoul auditions gradually draw closer, and Jongwoon watches the banners being hung up around the streetlights of Seoul, as MBS gears up for the anticipated city stop, where many a jewel was expected to be discovered. The green and blue colours wave at him as he drives along the road on a delivery, and Jongwoon casually notes that the first Saturday of October wasn’t exactly the best day to hold an audition, seeing as retail was the busiest on weekends, and contestants who worked a six-day week would have to take a day off just for that minute of hope for fame.

It’s not worth it, really. That is what Jongwoon tells himself. Somehow, he only half believes it.  
@

He receives four tickets to Kyuhyun’s concert in the mail a week later. Two are for his parents. The other two, clipped with a small post-it note, tells Jongwoon to bring somebody nice.

Jongwoon can’t think of anybody off the top of his mind.

It takes him another two weeks of contemplation, scrolling up and down his phone book list countless times. In the end, he invites his distant cousin, who’s eighteen and elated but also whines about the woes of being single and stuck with relatives in a lovely balled concert when one should be hugging one’s other half romantically.

Jongwoon kind of regrets inviting her when she breaks into squeals as Kyuhyun steps on stage.

Jongwoon notices her halfway into Kyuhyun’s concert. She is two rows down from him, thick straight copper hair curling against her shoulder. He distinctly hears her shout “Kui Xian!” at one point, mostly masked by the shouts in Korean. She is wearing a loose fitting sweater and black skinnies, enough to show her toned legs, and Jongwoon sees her eyes expand unimaginably wide as on-stage, Kyuhyun starts to play the harmonica. Also, if Jongwoon imagines hard enough, he can see that same expression on her in relation to potted plants. Kyuhyun was right after all, Jongwoon thinks, she is pretty in her own oriental way.

@

The sky is overcast and a steady rain is falling as Jongwoon steps out of the venue, the rush of applause and cheers still ringing in his ears. It’s one of those nights, where darkness creeps up too soon and unexpectedly. Majority of the concertgoers had left, but Jongwoon stayed back in his seat and watched as the stage crew busied themselves clearing up the stage. His distant cousin had disappeared after a phone call as the concert came to a close, and his parents had headed home straight. Jongwoon however, felt a walk. And he knew just the place to go, a fifteen-minute walk from the stadium.

He slips into the bar unnoticed, familiarity and nostalgia enveloping him warmly in the small cozy space where beer was half priced for anybody who could recite a poem using the initials of their university. The bartender was unfamiliar, as with the new line-up of drinks, but the small stage at the far end of the area was still the same, dark mahogany wood slightly chipped at the edges, forming a little platform for the performing arts group.

There is only a solo pianist tonight. Jongwoon almost feels disappointed.

He shrugs off his coat and umbrella at the door and pulls up a stool at the bar counter, ordering a glass of beer to warm himself up. These are students, he reminds himself, watching the small groups of people chatting in their corners, occasional bursts of raucous laughter and other shouts of dispute about who really started the revolution for reconnaissance art. It is a little mash pot of crude artistic expression and literary fights and Jongwoon loves it.

It’s when he hears that unique pronunciation just by his ear that his neck snaps when he turns to his right, and there she is.

“What the heck are you doing here!” Jongwoon exclaims before he can help himself. It’s then he remembers that he’s only known her from twitter posts and still, he is only ninety percent sure.

She gives him a wary stare, but her lips curve up into a warm smile and she gives a polite bow. “Hi, do I know you?”

“Do you like plants?” Jongwoon blurts out, and hears a suspicious cough from the bartender that sounded like ‘worst pickup line ever’.

She looks positively scared now, eyes darting back and forth as she tries to recall if she ever met Jongwoon.

“I’m Kyuhyun’s hyung. Jongwoon.” Jongwoon tries again, and suddenly worries if Kyuhyun never bothered to mention him in front of her. But he sees the creases on her forehead ease, and a flash of recognition crosses her eyes.

“Kim Jongwoon? The one that owns a café shop?” She asks, Korean syllables rolling off the tip of her tongue clumsily.

“Yes!” Jongwoon nods, thankful to be not mistaken as a stalker.

She breaks into an even wider smile, and does a deeper bow. “Nice to meet you! I’m Victoria. Kyuhyun mentioned you two are close, ever since university days.”

Jongwoon grins, pleased that Kyuhyun at least acknowledged him as a close friend. “You’re Chinese? Victoria?”

She nods vigorously, “Song Qian is my Chinese name. But Victoria seems easier to pronounce for people. But, here!” She gestures to the air around them. “You used to perform here! You, Kyuhyun, and.. Ryeoo-“

“Ryeowook?”

“Yeh Ryeowook-shii!” She smiles, “It’s nice to visit the places where Kyuhyun spent his student years.”

“It is.” Jongwoon agrees, even though he hasn’t been here since ages. There was just something about younger hoobaes ridiculing middle-aged people who came in here to reminisce about old times.

Her eyes light up when she spots the stage. “You sing? Still? Kyuhyun-shii says you sing the best.”

Jongwoon casts a glance behind him and shrugs. Next moment, he blinks as he finds himself onstage with Victoria tapping the pianist on the shoulder and looking at Jongwoon expectantly.

“Please, do sing something nice.” Victoria gestures, and glances around the tables to encourage scattered cheers.

The mike echoes sharply as Jongwoon steps up to it, and the spotlight blinds his eyes. It’s just a little performance, a welcome gift for Victoria Song Qian, the Chinese girl who braved foreign lands for her dreams, and for love. That is what Jongwoon tells himself. He’ll sing, with the sole aim of listening to her applause. (And perhaps to crush the sneer on that stuck-up hoobae on the third table by the stage.) And really, it isn’t that bad after all, as Jongwoon sings, and watches that hoobae widens his eyes.

@

“Stop. Waving that thing at me.” Jongwoon cracks open his eyes with a groan as the offending green and blue paper is placed in front of his face. His neck is hurting from being twisted at a ninety-degree angle for a long period, and judging by glares of the bartender, it was probably near closing time. How long had he passed out anyway?

“Nine days.” Kyuhyun replies.

“Go away. I’m not Rip Van Winkle.” Jongwoon waves a hand, then peers at Kyuhyun. “You. Ah. Hey Victoria?”

Kyuhyun clamps a hand over Jongwoon’s mouth and kicks his ankles. “Shh. She left earlier. Told me I could find you here.”

“She makes me- do things for her, drinks me under the table, and leaves me.” Jongwoon makes a face. “She’s evil.” He pauses. “She suits you. Hmph.”

Kyuhyun slides into the stool beside Jongwoon and pats a firm hand on his back. “You sang.”

Jongwoon grunts, choosing to ignore that statement.

“She recorded it. You still sound as good.” Kyuhyun pats him.

“Of course I sound good.” Jongwoon punches Kyuhyun’s shoulder.

Kyuhyun pushes the Superstar K pamphlet in Jongwoon’s direction again. “So then, nine days, hyung. Are you prepared?”

Jongwoon growls, “Stop with the haunting. I sing, but I don’t do music anymore as a career, as the focus of my life. That’s stupid- for me I mean. Not you.”

“You. Thinking music is not your life? Who are you kidding?” Kyuhyun scoffs, and glances at the stage of the bar before continuing, “You cried when your band members decided to call it quits.”

“I was drunk.” Jongwoon mutters.

“No you weren’t. It was orange kool-aid.” Kyuhyun says plainly. “You drank a can, burped gas in my face, and started bawling about the disbandment.”

Jongwoon plants his face against the cool glass, right ear pressed against the surface; but Kyuhyun’s holding his left ear between his fingers and speaking into it.

“And then a week later, you throw yourself into books and graduated first class, got into a top firm, and never touched music again.” Kyuhyun continues. “Ryeowook and I respected you and how much charisma you radiated on stage- Both of us agreed that you could be a great rock singer if you wanted to. And then one stupid disbandment gets you-”

“Reality. Reality got me.” Jongwoon lifts his face up and stares glassy eyed at Kyuhyun. Then he snorts, “You know, if I were younger, you would have already gotten an uppercut and a black eye.”

Kyuhyun shrugs.

Jongwoon’s head meets the table again and he mumbles against it, “You brave bastard. I’m your sunbae, when are you going to actually treat me like one? And yes, reality told me that rock music does not guarantee food on your table for the rest of your life. Who wants to see a potbellied forty-something year old scream out rock tunes like some old sixties junkie?”

“You know what your problem is?” Kyuhyun sighs. “You know what you like, but you just don’t want to pursue it, in favor of something that you know comes easy to you.” He takes out the piece of flyer that has been haunting Jongwoon for the past few days and places it on the table. “Hyung, seriously. Both Ryeowook and I really think you should go.”

@

The week leading up to the Superstar K Seoul auditions, Jongwoon’s iCalendar pings every morning with a reminder that “Seoul audition is in XX days! Have you warmed up your vocals?”. Jongwoon cancels it with the never-ending wonder at how Ryeowook has seemingly has magical powers. Ryeowook had not contacted him after that peace offering of apple pie, and according to standards of authority, Jongwoon would wait. Still, he catches himself practicing scales in the shower, playing guitar to his tortoise every night, and on a whim, buys new eyeliner as he passes a department store.

@

On the fateful Saturday, Jongwoon rolls out of bed and hits his pinky finger against his bedside drawer. It pretty much will sum up the rest of his day ahead.

He enters Handel and Gretel to a smoking oven, and their normal mechanic is on hospital leave. Fortunately the other two ovens were still running, but this meant that their daily supply was to be halved. And it was the week of their mid-autumn sales after all. Jongwoon’s nose twitches uncomfortably as he’s on the phone with the replacement technician, who promises to come by before lunch.

Back in the kitchen, the oil and grease from the oven permeates Jongwoon’s pores. He tries to open the back door to allow more ventilation within the room.

And then the lemons run out again.

He barely avoids accidentally whacking his mother with his garbage bag as he slips past her towards the back door; she waves his apologies off with a frown and continues her phone conversation, and then he crashes into a tray of cookies.

Yeah, just come all now then. Jongwoon glares at the sky as he steps out to throw the garbage.

@

“What, now?” Jongwoon’s mother nods when Jongwoon asks, exasperated.

“Why last minute?” Jongwoon grabs his van keys and follows her out the back.

“I clean forgot about it. Come on, if you drive me there I’ll still be able to make it.” Jongwoon’s mother gives him a warm hug of gratitude before she opens the door. Jongwoon merely grunts.

Jongwoon starts to become suspicious when Jongwoon’s mother does not want to reveal where she’s meeting her friend. She’s vague in giving directions, and they are travelling past a shopping district towards the commercial area does Jongwoon start to frown.

“Mom, are you sure? Which restaurant is it exactly? I can search for it” Jongwoon gestures toward the van’s GPS system, but she just waves at it dismissively.

“Just drive straight, we’re almost there.” She replies, glancing at her watch and outside repeatedly. Jongwoon looks at the signboards at the junction and his heart does a funny flop in the sense of serendipity when he reads the buildings in which the forwards sign is directing towards.

They stop two streets further down, and Jongwoon puts the van in park mode as his mother climbs out of the van. She comes round the side and opens his side of the door. “Just a quick greeting to Mdm. Lee? She hasn’t seen you recently.” She leans in further, “She has a daughter two years younger than you. You can consider.”

“Mom.” Jongwoon moans as he switches off the engine and pulls out the keys.

“At least comb your hair.” Jongwoon’s mother takes the keys from his hands and points at the van’s side mirror as Jongwoon peers in to flatten a tuff of hair on his back.

It is when the mirror swings away from him does he belatedly realizes it was a ploy after all. His mother had slammed the door and locked all sides.

“What?” Jongwoon blinks in surprise.

“Oh son, my Jongwoon.” Jongwoon’s mother looks at him tenderly behind the van’s window. “You know I love you so so much. You can do it. I know you can.”

She leaves him in the dust as the van drives away, the familiar piece of flyer folded with creased lines and crinkled from handling now held in Jongwoon’s hands.

Kyuhyun. Is. So. Dead.

At least Jongwoon had somebody to blame this on; he reflects as he walks to the nearest vending machine to get a bottle of drink to last him the long queue at the MBS building that he sees snaking in the distance.

@

“You’re right.” Is the first thing Ryeowook says when Jongwoon picks up his phone; the shrill ringing had caused a few people in the queue to look at him irritably. By now Jongwoon is sticky and hot and has downed half of the drink in his bottle and is not in a good mood. He grunts in reply.

Ryeowook continues unperturbed, “I’m going to submit my compositions to management.”

There’s a pause, then Ryeowook adds, “So you can’t call me an disgrace to all classical pianists and musicians.”

“Oh.” Jongwoon grips the phone harder. “I… didn’t really mean that.”

“Yes you did.” Ryeowook replies immediately, but not a tinge of hurt sounds in his voice. “You always mean what you say when you’re drunk.”

“Oh.” Jongwoon mumbles, “Okay.”

“Thanks for the apple pie.” Ryeowook continues, now talking in a lighter tone. Jongwoon is unwilling to admit that he misses the chattering stream from Ryeowook.

“It was nothing. I-”

“-You made it specially without cinnamon. So don’t try to deny it as a leftover.” Jongwoon imagines the widening grin on Ryeowook’s face.

“Hyung, remember that time you got drunk after Kyuhyun left for Paris? And you crashed at my dorm for the night?”

Jongwoon nods, then belatedly remembers that Ryeowook can’t see him anyway.

“You- you said you missed music.” Ryeowook’s definitely smiling on the other end, Jongwoon can tell by how high Ryeowook’s voice is climbing. “You always told us it was something you did as a hobby. But you really loved it. And you thought it was strange that two of your closest friends ended up doing your hobby as a living.”

Jongwoon feels copper on his tongue and realizes he’s been biting his cheek too long. There are words on his mouth but nothing comes out.

“But you can hyung- look its only four, MBS takes forty minutes from your workplace. My friend says they are still accepting applications-”

The announcing system chooses to sound at that moment “All applicants for Superstar K, please be patient while the auditions proceed. Auditions are still ongoing and we are still accepting applications. We wish you all the best in your journey!”

“-unless you’re already ther- YOU ARE!” Ryeowook ends in a shriek and Jongwoon’s heart plummets uncomfortably. “Is it your turn yet? Obviously not otherwise you wouldn’t be talking to me. Have you stretched your vocal chords? WHAT SONG ARE YOU GOING TO SING-”

It’s stupid, Jongwoon thinks with sudden lucidity as he looks around him. There are people of practically all ages, some from Goyang, others from Bucheon, most probably practicing for this audition months before, all just for a shot at stardom. It’s a constant buzz of people humming scales, tapping out tunes from their earphones, or even strumming on their guitars.

Jongwoon just wants to sing.

‘But you want to be recognized for your singing as well, don’t you?’ His voice taunts him in his head. And the thing is, Jongwoon realizes, he does. He misses the applause, misses the hoots of encouragement when he gets on stage, misses that rush of tingling joy when he opens his mouth to sing and the audience is entranced into silence.

The only thing is, Jongwoon is no more twenty years old and no more a young university student with a future of infinite possibilities. He’s twenty-eight, an established businessman, a café owner.

“You know what?” Jongwoon gripes into the phone, “I’m too old for this.” He gestures to the hordes around him, young dreamers and blinded people alike- but Jongwoon’s woken up from that dream he once had.

“Crazy.” He snaps the phone shut before Ryeowook can convince him otherwise, and picks up his bag.

“Number 2119. Please come this way.” The white polo tee staff that has been ushering people points at the flimsy piece of paper pinned onto Jongwoon’s shirt. “Hurry, we don’t have all day.” He waves a hand towards the two high ceilinged doors.

“No- I’m just…” Jongwoon tries to explain while his economics opportunity cost theory kicks in with a “you’ve already spent half your day queuing, and are you going to leave just as they call you?”

Jongwoon kind of hates his brain that way. He enters through the doors.

@

In November, Jongwoon enters the top twenty of the Superstar K competition. He is affectionately nicknamed the Rocker Turtle by his growing group of supportive fans.

Ryeowook is given a solo for his group’s winter album. It’s a soothing piano piece. The credits of the album list Kim Ryeowook as the song composer.

Kyuhyun officially announces that he’s dating Victoria Song on their hundredth day together.

Ryeowook and Jongwoon spam him with congratulatory messages. He replies their messages on twitter with a mysterious “kekeke but I love you guys the best.”

(Jongwoon notes that Kyuhyun’s twitter profile is still an egg. Some things still never change.)

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> ____________
> 
> *Having almost exhausted my energy searching for this person, I suddenly turned my head, and there he was, standing at the far end of the street where the candlelight is the dimmest.
> 
> Author’s notes: This is a long overdue fic that has been ruminating in my mind since I first heard that interview where all three of them admitted that they started off liking very different genres of music. And then that picture of three of them on tumblr where somebody commented that Kyuhyun looked like a British spy- and I just started writing☺


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